Sunday, September 28, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Garden of Light
I'm glad someone re-upped this, because it's basically my favorite thing in the world.
I don't know how much the animation has been altered from it's original form to fit the song, so I can't comment extensively, but it's interesting how well it mirror's Isis's general musical structure. Rather than any type of strongly cohesive narrative, it's just images, rising and falling in intensity, but unified by the common theme of the robot. The robot in itself is funny, considering the way in which this album (and song, especially) saw Isis moving away from the somewhat robot-like adherence to time that marked their earlier work.
Also: Aaron Tuner will always be my hero just because he rocks a telecaster.
I don't know how much the animation has been altered from it's original form to fit the song, so I can't comment extensively, but it's interesting how well it mirror's Isis's general musical structure. Rather than any type of strongly cohesive narrative, it's just images, rising and falling in intensity, but unified by the common theme of the robot. The robot in itself is funny, considering the way in which this album (and song, especially) saw Isis moving away from the somewhat robot-like adherence to time that marked their earlier work.
Also: Aaron Tuner will always be my hero just because he rocks a telecaster.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Nonus Aequilibrium
The only black metal love song? Probably not. But definitely the best. Thank you Ihsahn.
Certainly one of the least emo love songs of all time, but, especially with metal, I've noticed that the removal of one type of cheese usually results in the addition of a different-but-equivalent layer. Sort of a musical homeostasis.
Also: I first heard this song when I was 15, but when the blastbeats come in at the beginning, it still blows my mind. So heavy.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
blood, sweat, tears
Today somebody asked me why I play music. It's a huge, vague question, but I immediately thought of this video:
To me, the supreme state in which music can be delivered is through a type of transcendence, in which the musicians, the instruments, the notes, the song, sublimate into one another and become a type of giant totality, a wave of sound that carries with it a suffusion of emotion much greater than the sum of its parts. As a musician, it's a type of spiritual self-destruction, in which, in order to give yourself completely to the song, you're forced to lay down your fears, your ego, and let the sound flow through you and embody it. In a way, it's a lot like zazen, in which you concentrate on your breath to the point at which you no longer notice yourself or your body, or even really the act of breathing, you just exist and breathe, in the moment. In the same way, musically, you can't anticipate the chord changes or the time, you need to know it in such a way that you play it almost as if you don't know it, as if the entirety of the composition was some profound improvisation. When Noah Landis pounds the shit out of those bass pedals, it's not a premeditated act, it's just what the song dictates, and it becomes in a way a personification of the song, the spirit of it made manifest physically. When Sid Vicious ripped a broken bottle across his chest, or when Iggy Pop bent over backwards, it was the same thing. I wrote about this in a previous blog, but when I saw Neurosis play last, at the end of the last song Scott Kelly headbutted the microphone until it broke off the stand and blood ran down his face. This was also the same. When music is played in this way, it becomes a thing beyond playing an instrument, beyond technique or thought. Musicians become a medium for the sound, the oscillations travel through them and they give them, give the sound and the spirit of that sound, screaming to the world.
To me, the supreme state in which music can be delivered is through a type of transcendence, in which the musicians, the instruments, the notes, the song, sublimate into one another and become a type of giant totality, a wave of sound that carries with it a suffusion of emotion much greater than the sum of its parts. As a musician, it's a type of spiritual self-destruction, in which, in order to give yourself completely to the song, you're forced to lay down your fears, your ego, and let the sound flow through you and embody it. In a way, it's a lot like zazen, in which you concentrate on your breath to the point at which you no longer notice yourself or your body, or even really the act of breathing, you just exist and breathe, in the moment. In the same way, musically, you can't anticipate the chord changes or the time, you need to know it in such a way that you play it almost as if you don't know it, as if the entirety of the composition was some profound improvisation. When Noah Landis pounds the shit out of those bass pedals, it's not a premeditated act, it's just what the song dictates, and it becomes in a way a personification of the song, the spirit of it made manifest physically. When Sid Vicious ripped a broken bottle across his chest, or when Iggy Pop bent over backwards, it was the same thing. I wrote about this in a previous blog, but when I saw Neurosis play last, at the end of the last song Scott Kelly headbutted the microphone until it broke off the stand and blood ran down his face. This was also the same. When music is played in this way, it becomes a thing beyond playing an instrument, beyond technique or thought. Musicians become a medium for the sound, the oscillations travel through them and they give them, give the sound and the spirit of that sound, screaming to the world.
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